Pauline Rowson - A Killing Coast

She eyed him steadily, twirling the glass in her slender hands. ‘I suppose you think I’m showing off,’ she said, reading his thoughts with uncanny accuracy that made him wonder if he was beginning to let his guard down too much. Adrian Stanley had seen through him this morning but then Stanley was ex-job, Horton reasoned. Maybe it applied to an ex-lover too.

‘I guess I am in a way, but only to myself.’ She gave a brief smile before the serious expression returned. ‘I’m not here to rub anyone’s noses in it because there’s no one’s nose left to rub. Dad died a year after I left to work abroad and Mum three years after that. There’s no one I care to remember in Portsmouth, except you, and I don’t need to show off to you. No, I’m here for several reasons and one is because the yacht was built in Southampton and launched from there last Friday, and we had to pick up three new crew members from the Superyacht Training Academy here in Portsmouth at the weekend.’

Horton hoped they’d been thoroughly vetted, along with the rest of the crew. There was always a possibility of a job being organized or coordinated from the inside.

‘Do you know the academy?’ she asked.

‘Not much call for hiring superyacht crew on my little boat.’

She laughed. ‘Pity you’re a copper. You’d make a great skipper.’

‘Wrong kind of boat, Avril. I like ones that have a bit of cloth on a pole.’

‘Oh, the complicated, energetic kind,’ she teased.

He nodded. Even if Glenn’s boat was a sailing yacht, Horton knew that being so close to Avril and seeing her with Glenn would be enough to drive him nuts. He’d spoken the truth though when he’d said he didn’t know the Superyacht Training Academy. He made a mental note to find out more about them, not because there might be anything suspicious, but because they were on his patch.

‘And the other reason is this VIP charity reception,’ he prompted.

‘Yes. I can’t say Russell’s thrilled about it, he’s a very private man and hates these kinds of flashy functions but I wanted to host it because I feel guilty.’

Horton raised his eyebrows. ‘Because you’re rich?’

‘No, because I let my mum down.’ Her expression clouded over and she sipped her vodka before continuing. ‘Mum died of pancreatic cancer and I wasn’t here to look after her or to say goodbye. She’d had a tough life with Dad being the shitbag he was. I didn’t always see eye to eye with her, we rowed frequently, as you might remember. I thought her weak and pathetic for putting up with a drunk who treated her like a punchbag when he felt like it, and I couldn’t get away from her, dad and Portsmouth quick enough. But that was fifteen years ago, and I’d like to think I’ve grown up a bit since then. I know that mum took the punches in order to protect me, and I left her to handle her cancer alone because I was shit-scared that I’d end up looking after her and become trapped. And I hate traps,’ she added with feeling. ‘Can you understand that?’

Horton nodded. He could.

‘Mum never once asked me to come home, she never complained and I stayed away until it was too late. I returned for the funeral for one day and I was back on the plane as fast as my legs would carry me. The local hospice was marvellous to mum so this is my way of assuaging my guilt, by thanking them and saying sorry to my mum.’ She gave a sad smile before adding, ‘All the great, good and famous from all around are paying for their tickets to come on board for caviar and champagne, including your new Chief Constable, Mr Meredew.’

That didn’t surprise Horton. If Uckfield’s father-in-law had still been the Chief Constable then no doubt Uckfield would have wangled himself an invitation. Horton doubted if mere Detective Superintendents were included.

Avril was saying, ‘It’s in aid of the hospice and we’re holding an auction. I’ve got Oliver Vernon as auctioneer, he’s an art historian and used to handling auctions so he knows how these things work. I’ve got jewellery, artworks, designer clothes all donated by some very famous people-’

‘On board?’ Horton asked, alarmed, wondering why the hell Walters hadn’t told him this.

‘No.’ She smiled. ‘We’re showing the goods on screen in the on board cinema.’

‘Of course,’ Horton said airily, but he was relieved. Despite Lloyd’s muscles and the state of the art security system, and extra patrols, Horton didn’t think they’d be any match for an organized raid if it happened. His mind flitted to that blue van. Could it have been casing Glenn’s superyacht? Not if it was the same one that had been outside Stanley’s apartment some fifteen miles away.

‘Oliver should be here in a moment,’ Avril said, her eyes searching the busy boardwalk. ‘And Dominic Keats. He’s the Managing Director of the Superyacht Training Academy.’ A glance at her watch had Horton quickly scanning the interior of the bar for loitering thieves. Even Lloyd looked jumpy. ‘Ah, there’s Dominic.’

Horton followed her gaze to a tall man in his early fifties with short dark hair, and an expensive sailing jacket worn over causal clothes. He halted at the top of the pontoons and stared around with a puzzled expression on his aquiline face, before stepping into the small marina office. Avril tossed back the remainder of her vodka and sprang up. Lloyd followed suit. Avril said, ‘Come and meet him.’

Horton wasn’t particularly keen to, but how could he refuse? Dominic Keats smiled as Avril greeted him warmly.

‘This is an old friend of mine, Andy Horton; he’s a police inspector so you’d better watch out,’ she said, laughing.

Keats looked as though he’d just suffered a severe bout of indigestion but he took Horton’s hand in a firm grip and smiled briefly and dismissively. Horton got the sense of an impatient, ambitious man who measured people in terms of their wealth and business potential, and as he clearly had neither, Keats wasn’t going to waste time and energy on him.

‘And here’s Oliver.’ Avril waved at a slim man, about mid forties, with fair hair and a close-cropped fair beard on a narrow but friendly face. He was casually dressed in jeans and jumper under a dark coat, carrying a canvas computer bag slung over his shoulder and trailing a small suitcase.

Oliver Vernon’s grasp wasn’t as firm as Keating’s, but his light-blue eyes were intelligent and friendly.

‘We’ve got some great pieces to auction,’ Oliver Vernon said enthusiastically, after Avril had made the introductions. ‘Thanks to Avril’s persuasive skills.’ Horton could well imagine. ‘Some fine art, antique jewellery, exquisite antique porcelain as well as the usual, holiday for two on a millionaire’s island paradise.’

‘Not Russell’s,’ Avril added, smiling, ‘but we’re donating a four day cruise on the yacht. You could bid for it, Andy.’ she teased. ‘You are coming to the auction, aren’t you? Please say you can make it.’

Horton quickly stifled his surprise and rapidly tried to think of an excuse to refuse. The obvious one was work but he found himself saying, ‘Thanks. That would be nice.’ Nicer still if Glenn wasn’t there. Still, he was curious to meet the man who had made millions and won Avril’s heart, or at least her devotion, even if she worshipped at the altar of wealth. But who was he to criticize? It was her life. He didn’t know what the new Chief would make of his appearance on board though. Bliss would be sick with envy if she ever found out and so would Uckfield, he guessed. Horton hoped that neither they nor anyone else would. He’d come in for endless ribbing and snide comments.

‘Great.’ She sounded and looked genuinely pleased, but Horton still suspected he was being invited so that she could boast to at least one person who remembered her from her poverty stricken past. ‘Eight thirty. Black tie. Now we’d better go, there’s Russell waiting for us.’